


Part-Time Love

by CharlieBradbury



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Young Avengers
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Depression, Fast Food, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieBradbury/pseuds/CharlieBradbury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America's been on her own for a long time now.  She randomly ends up in this small town, with more liquor stores than any Christian community should need, more bored youth than they know what to do with.</p><p>And a girl with more charm than should be legal.</p><p>America could have sworn she was done with straight girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big trigger warning. The first time America and Billy meet he's standing on a ledge. He doesn't go through with it, to spoil my own story.
> 
> Also part of the end disappeared when I posted this earlier. (The one time I neglect to preview before posting)

America Chavez is twenty years old.

She thinks.

To be honest, she hasn’t really kept track of that since she was maybe...sixteen? Since the last time she’d had the same group of people around her for more than eight months. All she knows is that after that, she skipped town. Her ‘friends’ left her to the whims of the police after one too many poorly planned shenanigans. While waiting for her boozehound foster dad to come pick her up from a quick release (being underage and orphaned with a decent public defender made her too pitiable to keep around) she found herself staring at the train station across the street from the county courthouse. She stared until she was picked up, driven home the few blocks to their shitty apartment building. She ignored the hoarse shouting that chased her into the stairwell.

She kicked in a door on the second floor. Splinters and paint chips showered inward. She heard shouts in the living room but ignored them. She went into the kitchen, rummaged under the sink. A boy with blond hair came in, shouting until he realized who it was.

“America? Babe? What the fuck did you do to the fuckin’ door?”

She answered him with a massively satisfying kick to the groin. As he lay groaning on the dirty linoleum, she pulled out a duck-taped plastic bag of cash. She stepped over him saying, “This makes us even.”

She walked down the stairs, out of the building, and back up to the train station. She was on the next train out, and didn’t think of what was behind her.

Instead, she focused on what was ahead.  
\----  
She thinks she’s twenty, as she gets off the bus in a small southern town. She’d been in several big cities-St. Paul, Pittsburgh, San Francisco-but now she wanted to see a smaller town. The town name rang a bell in her head, she couldn’t figure out why. But hey, one place was as good as another. She was happier than she could remember being. No ties, no connections other than the convenient brief friendships she might stir up with her coworkers at whatever place she found employment. Not that she always found friends. Sometimes months would pass without any real conversation. She’s okay with that, mostly. She can’t say she never gets lonely.

But lonely’s better than miserable she figures. And god, was she miserable before.

Here, she gets off the bus and walks down Main Street with her hood pulled up over her head. It’s late, past midnight. She’ll find one of those all night diners, grab a newspaper and look up apartments. She doesn’t see any bus stop signs as she walks, passing gas stations and a couple liquor stores. She finds herself on a bridge after a forty minute walk. Sighing she leans back on the concrete railing, digging around in her coat pockets for her cell phone. She’ll have to Google this dumb town, see if it even has a damn diner.

Someone’s standing on the railing across the road, their back to America. Someone else sits on the road, a young man, his bored face shown in the light of a cell phone held in small hands. The kid sitting down laughs and waves vaguely up at the person standing on the railing. He looks up, and sees America. A semi truck roars between them for a few seconds. America surges into action as the red of the taillights streak across her vision.

She walks three quick paces forward before slowing to a normal walking speed. She listens carefully for approaching cars when she’s blinded by the streetlight nearby suddenly flickering on. The kid grins sharply up at her, and in the sudden light he looks older.

“Hi,” he greets cheerily. “You’re new here.”

“Is your friend okay?”

His grin turns down slightly. “Master William, are you well?” The guy standing stock still doesn’t answer. “He’s fine. Just having some existential crisis.” The boy makes a careless flap of his hand. America glares at him in confusion. The boy sighs. “He’s a big kid, he can decide whether he’s going to jump for himself.”

America starts. “You’re just going to let him...” She doesn’t jump forward, afraid she could accidentally tip the guy over the edge.

“I’m not going to _let him_ do anything,” the boy seethes. “He’s an adult, technically. If I yank him back now, what good will that do? Will it stop his depression? Rid his mind of anxiety and hatred? No. He’ll just try again. Swallow painkillers, walk into traffic, get into his grandpa’s guns. And why shouldn’t he? It’s his life.” The boy takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment. “He can decide for himself if he wants to end it now. If he _really_ wants to, he should.” The guy standing makes some choked noise. America is still, gripped by a wonder at what in the hell she’s gotten herself into. Her hands are at her sides. Her knees are bent slightly, ready to jolt forward. “But. If he has any reason not to, any thing that keeps him waking up each day...the new season of Game of Thrones. A boyfriend that would make Adonis and every Disney prince feel inadequate . Friends that would walk two miles in the middle of the night to make sure you don’t do anything too stupid.” A chuckle drags itself out of the guy. “If any single joy would make tomorrow worth seeing, he should get his overdramatic ass off that ledge.” Silent seconds follow the end of his speech.

William laughs finally, loud and strange. He steps to turn around, and slips. America jumps forward as soon as she sees him moving. Her hand digs into stretchy jersey knit shirt, her other arm wraps around a skinny torso. She twists, throwing him to the asphalt.

The boy still sits, tapping away on his phone. “You all right, Billy?” he asks airily.

The guy lets out a harsh breath, throwing his head back onto the ground and covering his face with his hands. “Yeah. I’m good. You’re a dick.” 

“Debatable,” the boy answers as he stands. America stares at him as he puts his phone away and stretches his arms over his head. “So, pancakes? I think you should treat, considering-not the face, not the face!” America rears back, her fist clenched hard, and punches the jackass. She’s panting as he falls backwards.

Billy sits up, wiping his eyes. He looks from America to the boy she just hit. “Did...did you just punch him?” 

The boy groans from the ground. 

“Yeah,” she says. 

Billy snorts, then laughs, then falls back and laughs loudly into the still night. America suddenly becomes aware of the breeze swirling the heat of the sun-warmed asphalt with the cool air of the spring night. She hears the cars of the highway under the bridge, driving by unconcerned of the three people above them. She squints as the bulb of the streetlight pulsates weakly. 

“I’m sorry?” she says quietly as both boys manage to stand after a while. 

Billy smiles happily at her. “Don’t be. Loki’s deserved a good punch for a while.” 

“I resemble that remark,” Loki says sullenly. “Anyway. Loki,” he points to himself. “Billy,” he waves carelessly to the other boy. “Pancakes?” he asks with a wide sweep of his arms. 

That’s how she finds herself sitting in a diner that sat just on the other side of the bridge with a plate full of eggs and bacon. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Billy says sheepishly, pushing his salad around his bowl. 

“Shit happens,” America says lowly, dumping Tobasco on her eggs. “I’m just glad no one got hurt." 

“Excuse me,” Loki whines, clasping his water glass to his chin sadly. “I got hurt. _Because_ of you.” America just quirks her eyebrows at him. “God, if we end up being actual friends I will complain so much,” he mutters as he reaches for the syrup. 

“Anyway, America, what brought you here?” Billy asks. 

She shrugs. “I travel around. This was as good a town as any.” 

Loki blows a raspberry. “You’re sorely mistaken. But I assume this means you need living quarters?” 

“Well, yeah.” 

Loki quirks his eyebrows at Billy, who twists his mouth in confusion. “No one has any space. Unless-wait, Noh? Really? You think-” 

“Just tell him she punched me and she’s in,” Loki says flatly. Billy bops his head to the side in agreement, and pulls out his cell phone.

That’s how America ends up sleeping in the spare bedroom of a spacious house owned by a boy with whiter hair than should be natural. She doesn’t ask him any questions, and he doesn’t ask her anything either. His bedroom’s on the second floor, so she doesn’t even see him until two days later. She’d been around, found a job at a fast food place three miles away, and wondered if it’d be okay for her to put some food in the fridge. 

“Hey," her host says as she comes in with a newspaper under her arm, plus the numbers of a few realtors from different signs she’d seen around town written on it. 

“Hi. Thanks for letting me stay here. I’ve got a job so I’ll move out when I find a place-” 

“Why?” he interrupts. 

She stares at him. He’s practically one with the sofa, empty chip bags and soda cans surrounding him. “Were you looking for a roommate?” 

“Not-not in so many words.” He sits up, his taut belly barely wrinkling over perfect abs. He hardly ever wears shirts, as far as America can tell. The fact that he hasn’t caught her rolling her eyes at him blatantly surprises her. He rakes fingers through white hair, dark roots showing. “I was with Kate. Kate’s Billy and Teddy’s best friend. I’m not with Kate anymore so I don’t see Billy or Teddy so much now.”

America now sees the filth surrounding the aesthetically beautiful boy as what it is; every sordid stereotypical representation of guilt. “What, you cheat on her?”

He grins. “No. Not even. I. I made the wrong choice.” He stands, stretching truly magnificent back muscles within a foot of the young woman. “And I’m suffering for it.” America has never been more sure that she’s gay _as fuck_ in her life. “Anyway, this place is paid for. I’m okay, financially. You can stay as long as you want, I don’t care.”

“Why?” she asks blandly. She doesn’t have to say, 'Why me, why a person you barely know who your friends only know as a random girl who found them on an overpass?'

He shrugs. “You punched Loki. That, in itself means you’re a decent person.”

They never talk about it again. It really is the worst for either of them, neither one of them willing to talk about anything. Noh does whatever he does and America gets used to this town, works her crappy fast food job which is the same as any crappy fast food job she’s had before (with extra southeastern US bigotry thrown in). Her coworkers are fortunately not as awful as she’s experienced and like to leave things well enough alone. For three weeks America doesn’t even meet Kate.

Because Kate closes at the restaurant. And America was training, but she’s going to close. That was why she got the job, so she could work the late nights no one else wanted. And Kate has closed for as long as she’s worked there. And she overhears the daytime cashiers talk about “Oh you’d better restock those cups, Bishop will bitch all weekend about you if you don’t!”

She didn’t know Kate’s last name was Bishop. 

She has no idea what she's in for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> America and Kate work together. Flirting happens? America's not sure. Also Kate almost sets the place on fire, but that's to be expected.

America’s done pretty much every single job that a runaway with a decent fake ID could get away with. The best job was probably when she worked in the bookstore in Minneapolis. That was when she started figuring out that maybe making out with a boy a couple of years ago sucked not because she was too young as she’d thought. And when she’d fumbled her way through going on a couple of dates with the cute girl with a floral dress.

Here, in good ol’ Utopia, she doesn’t even dream of finding a LGBT friendly bookstore or cafe, even one of the trashy clubs that people seem to love. She’s never really liked clubbing. Too many bodies, too much music, and it’s hard to get to know anyone you go with. 

“So what brought you to Utopia?” Sam Wilson, her manager, asks her as she pulls on an apron over the stiff cotton of the uniform tee shirt. A cartoon face smiles grotesquely up at her from the breast pocket.

America shrugs her shoulders. “I was looking for somewhere quiet.”

He grins at her, pity in her eyes. “Quiet, huh? Well yeah, it’s quiet. In some parts.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, about to ask what he means, when the door slams open behind her. She turns to look over her shoulder as someone walks in, head tipped back as he drains the last of a huge energy drink. He crushes the empty can and belches loudly.

“Classy Shepherd,” Sam says, not even looking from his paperwork.

“You know me,” the boy says, combing back long white blond bangs. (Why do so many boys think that bleached hair is the best?) He looks America up and down, in a way that is familiar and irritating. “I’m Tommy. You must be the new girl.”

She puts on her best bitch face without even thinking about it. “Yep.” She walks towards the back, to hang up her jacket. He trails after her.

“You got a name?”

She would just point to her name tag, but he’d probably take that an invitation to stare at her tits. “Most people do,” she monotones. She hangs her jacket up with the others on some hooks hanging off a shelf.

“Ah, don’t put it there,” he says, striding past her and grabbing the denim jacket. “Those hooks are shit, it’ll fall off. The floors get filthy, it’ll get ruined.” He stuffs it next to some boxes on the shelf. “Those are all old jackets that no one’s claimed. No one cares about those.”

She nods at him before walking past him back towards the office. When he’s not leering like an asshole, he looks a little familiar. She doesn’t think too hard on it. It’s her first night closing, and it’s a Friday so she doesn’t know what to expect. Having a minute before she’s supposed to clock in, she goes up front and makes herself a cup of water. Fitting the plastic lid on the styrofoam cup, she looks through the window into the parking lot.

A scruffy blond middle aged white guy and a brunet white girl who could be his kid are standing next to each other behind a beat up pick up. The girl is petting a yellow dog that looks as classy as the guy and the truck. She turns and looks at the guy, saying something. The guy looks away and shrugs. She punches his shoulder, and the dog continues to sit and wag it’s tail in the bed of the truck. The guy leans away dramatically and the girl rolls her eyes. America can’t read lips, but she’d bet money the girl with bluer eyes than America’s ever seen just called her dad an idiot.

“Chavez!” she hears. She turns away, suddenly feeling bad for spying on what was probably a private family moment. Sam’s good-natured grin from the office beckons her. She walks back, passing Shepherd who’s making himself a burger. “You’ve been on the grill right?” She nods. “I think I wanna see you on fries tonight.”

“I haven’t been trained on fries yet.”

“Yeah, but you’re good at listening and you’re not an idiot so I think you’ll pick it up all right,” he says, sliding her timecard into the machine. It clocks her in, and Sam grabs another card. “Oh,” he says. “You haven’t worked with Bishop yet. Wait for it.” He holds up three fingers, then lowers one. And another. And-

The door is pounded on. Sam chuckles, and clocks in another card. Someone from the front shouts “Clear,” and America walks over to open the door.

The girl that America had been watching surges in, almost bowling America over. “Uh. ‘Sup new girl.”

“Hey,” America manages. The girl smiles widely at her, and she smells faintly of flowers. The rest of America’s night is taken over by learning the fry station. Three different windows means three different cashiers are shouting at her intermittently. Onion rings and hush puppies don’t take long to cook but she finds running out of corn dogs or fries makes everyone huffy.

Except for Bishop. She double checks to make sure America heard her call out six corn dogs. And that she heard another cashier call out three orders of nuggets. Or that she knows that a customer changed a fry to an onion ring. Anything like that.

Around ten o’clock, America rubs the back of her neck and looks around. Most everybody’s taking advantage of the lull in orders, refilling their drinks or chatting. Bishop’s struggling to pull down a box from an overhead shelf.

“Want me to do it?” she asks. Bishop starts, turning and giving America a grin under the green ball cap that matches hers.

“Nah, I’ve got it.” She jumps, slapping the underside of the box making it tumble down into her waiting hands. “This is the tallest I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve adapted.”

“I see,” America mutters, backing away. She goes to turn towards the other register station, to refill her water.

“I’m Kate, by the way,” Bishop says before America can turn away. “Or Bishop, if you like.”

“America Chavez,” she says. “Call me whatever you like.” Kate’s eyes flicker down America’s body in what she probably thought was a subtle way. Her smile widens before she opens her mouth to say something. The speaker goes off, and she twirls around to go answer it.

“Where are you from, anyway?” Kate asks just as America realizes she’s out of chicken nuggets a few minutes later.

“Ah-”

“Oh, back off Bishop,” Shepherd says as he wanders over, snatching a fry from the metal bin. “Save your questioning for after the rush.”

Kate grabs a stray fry that had fallen to the tabletop, cold and useless now. She tosses it, and it pings off the end of the blond boy’s nose. He squawks as Kate walks up to snag a spare onion ring. “Tommy thinks I’m nosy. I just like to get to know someone when I know I’m going to be in the same building as them for about forty hours a week.”

Shepherd waggles his eyebrows as he grabs the broom. “Yeah, you got to know me pretty well, eh?”

Kate gets flustered, color rising in her cheeks. “One make-out does not give you bragging rights you ass. Besides, now I know better than to shit where I eat.” She ignores Tommy’s overdramatic gasp and storms back to her register. America feels whatever tiny bit of hope she’d felt rising go with the girl. Even if she was bi, she obviously didn’t like dating coworkers. Ah well, America wouldn’t want to cause undue drama at the place that’ll pay her bills for a while.

The rest of the shift is all right, even though most everyone goes home fairly early, and the late rushes leave the rest frustrated. Bishop banters good-naturedly with Wilson, telling him his boss sucks at scheduling.

“Say that to her face and I’ll never call you Katie again,” he laughs.

“Don’t like Katie?” America asks.

Kate wrinkles her nose. America grins as she internally screams about how cute that is. “That’s what you call a like, a toddler. I’m a grown ass woman.”

“What are you, sixteen?”

Kate flips her ponytail off her shoulder, playing for dignity. “Twenty, thank you.”

America hides her smile as she turns to grab some paper towels. “Coulda fooled me.”

The raspberry that Kate blows at her is interrupted by the speaker going off. Another hour passes in a flurry of orders and America’s eventual realization that she’s one compliment away from flirting. She reminds herself of the trouble that comes with dating coworkers, much less straight girls, and reins it in. Focusing on what she's doing, she immerses herself in what's going on around her. She doesn’t even realize they’ve closed until Wilson’s passing behind her with the cash drawers in his arms. And then she realizes she doesn’t know how to close the fryers.

Kate’s beside her, apron gone and an earbud dangling down into her shirt. “I’m training you on these, did I not say? Sorry.”

America shrugs, standing back. Kate’s still energetic, while America’s been feeling the length of the day in the burning behind her eyes. Talking rapidly, Kate leads America around like a tired puppy, grabbing things and pointing out different ways to clean the fryers.

“Sorry princess, I’m like half awake and I’m pretty sure I’m going to forget most of what you’ve told me by tomorrow,” America apologizes while waiting for the fryer to drain, crouching down next to the metal pot catching the oil.

Kate purses her lips and rolls her eyes from where she’s leaning over the boiling hot dark brown oil. “It’s cool. Just means I get to say all this stuff again.” She grins. “And I’m not sure I like ‘princess’ any better than ‘Katie.’”

America can’t stop herself from leaning up a bit, getting in Kate’s space before saying lowly, “Get used to it, you’re not always going to get your way with me, y’know.”

Kate’s grin sharpens. “I get my way all the time, _princess._ Wait and see.”

“Make out already!” Tommy shouts from the mop sink. Kate stands and tells him to fuck off, leaving America to crouch and wonder at the smoke rising from the fryer.

“Uh, should it be-”

Kate spins back around, eyes flying wide open. “Shit, fuck, I forgot to turn it off!” She turns a dial, then yanks the lever back up to stop it from pouring any more oil out. “We need to pour the oil back in, or it’ll catch on fire-”

America grabs the handles of the pot, heaving it up with little trouble and dumping it back in slowly. “All right, Superwoman,” Kate swears. “I mean, I can lift it, but not without crying like a baby.”

America puts the empty pot down. “Eh. I work out.” Kate’s answering ‘mm-hmm’ gets lost in Tommy’s derisive shout from the back. America looks up in time to find Kate staring hard at her.

Oh she is in so much trouble. She reminds herself that straight girls are rarely worth the effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *head in hands* Guys life is so stupid right now for me. I haven't given up on this story, and I hate that not much happens in this chapter except Kate and America snarking. SIGHS. Plot will happen. Promise.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've worked fast food for entirely too long. I while away the long boring hours thinking about my faves and where they'd fit in my store. Why is it set in the south? Cause I live here and I'm too lazy to conjure up yet another ambiguous midwestern city for an AU.
> 
> I honestly can't say where this story will end. Or even when I'll update. But yeah. Here it is. Thanks for reading!


End file.
